


Matchmaker, Matchmaker

by courageandcheer



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3087695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courageandcheer/pseuds/courageandcheer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Featuring flaming shots, sexual innuendos, broken noses, babies, mistletoe, and a few happy accidents. Or, Combeferre and Joly attempt to set each other up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaker, Matchmaker

Like most of the bad decisions in his life, this one had been the result of one too many sips of whiskey. Though they weren’t exactly sips of whiskey so much as they were gulps. Shot-sized gulps, to be precise. Three of them. Or had it been four?

Joly sat up straighter in his chair, much to the delight of his aching back. As he shifted, the stool beneath him wobbled as it attempted to distribute his weight among three normal legs and one that was at least an inch shorter than the rest.

The sleazy bar around him and Combeferre was dark, the overhead lighting turned down so low that it was no more than a hopeful suggestion of light. It was probably better that way, as it much harder to regret the number of shots you’d done when you couldn’t actually see the accumulation of glasses on the table. Darkness and denial went hand in hand.

But there was no denying, however, that Joly was a giggly drunk. He almost envied Combeferre for being able to maintain his composure, and he remained convinced that it was actually one of his many superpowers.

He wasn’t sure what exactly prompted his latest laughing fit. It could’ve been the ridiculous red glittery sweater on the woman edging past their table. It may have been because they’d been sitting there for half an hour now and he’d only just noticed the Christmas tree in one corner, decorated with ornaments that half-hung off of the branches. It could’ve been the way the music blaring from the overhead speakers kept alternating between techno and pop. It also could’ve been laughter spurred along by that peculiar state of fatigue exacerbated by being on call for two days straight. The laughter was, of course, a more appealing alternative to weeping out of exhaustion.

Combeferre’s attention was then captivated by a tray of flaming shots passing by their table. He swore and then said, “Those look amazing, don’t they?” He was already lurching off of his stool, having hardly given Joly enough time to stop laughing and agree with him.

“Just so you know, we are definitely going to die tonight,” Combeferre declared as he nudged away the assortment of other glasses with the back of his hand and dumped the two glasses on the table. Between his index finger and middle finger he held two short straws, one of which he offered to Joly. “Won’t the straws melt, though?” he wondered, while examining his own straw.

“They will after about two seconds, so you have to drink it fast,” Joly warned him. “Really fast.” He watched the flames dance around the rim of the glass. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but it seemed like the flickering of the flame seemed to match the beat of the song around them.

Joly counted down, dividing his attention between his own drink and Combeferre’s. He smashed his fist against the table when he hit zero and took the plunge. He was more or less successful, managing to suck down about three-quarters of it before the straw was completely useless. The drink tasted sweet in his mouth, and its warmth settled in the pit of his stomach. He looked back up in time to watch Combeferre's straw burst into flames. He tapped the table rapidly and cried, “Blow it out, blow it out, _blow it out_!”

Combeferre successfully extinguished it before it reached his fingertips. He cupped his palm around the drink and breathed over it, smothering the flames before finishing it off. They traded a glance and burst into peals of laughter, pushing away the two empty glasses. “Well, that went a lot better than I was expecting,” Combeferre declared with a pleased smile. 

“No causalities,” Joly agreed. He pressed his hands against his cheeks. He could feel the warmth of his blood in places where he didn’t usually notice it. He wasn’t sure if he should be alarmed that his eyelids felt warm, as did his mouth. Oddly enough, the stretch of skin on the sides of his face near his ears was also warm.

Joly lowered his hands from his cheeks. His gaze lingered on Combeferre’s collar, where a bit of fabric from his light blue scrubs was peeking out from beneath his jacket, and then flickered over his shoulder.

“I think – ” Joly cupped his fingers over his lips as he stifled a hiccup. He focused back on Combeferre’s face and tried again. “I think you have an admirer.”

He recognized the man from the altogether curious number of times he’d passed by their table. He’d lost track somewhere after the fourth sighting. He was pretty sure it was the same person who’d bumped into it once, though the jury was still out as to whether it had been accidental or on purpose. In any case, he’d apologized before scurrying away. He was now hovering at a safe distance in their periphery, his attention fixed on Combeferre’s profile.

A moment was all it took for Combeferre’s smile to turn from amused to curious. He parted his lips as if he wanted to say something else. He started to move his head, swiveling it to peer over his shoulder.

“No, no, no. Don’t look!” Joly hissed. He smacked his palm against the table a couple of times, prompting the empty shot glasses to rattle. “ _Good lord,_ don’t you have any tact?”

Without even having a chance to properly catch a glimpse, Combeferre sighed and stopped trying to look. “Okay, but how can you say something like that and expect me not to look?” he argued. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Another bout of laughter bubbled to Joly’s lips. “You’re just not supposed to,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. Combeferre continued to stare at him, eyes wide in exasperation.

“What?” Joly prompted.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what they look like?”

Joly hesitated. He glanced over Combeferre’s shoulder again, watching the man long enough for him to get the hint that he’d been noticed. The message was communicated through an arched eyebrow. But instead of approaching, he retreated and was soon swallowed by the darkness. “You can do better,” he decided.

“I’d take just about anything I can get, you know,” Combeferre said. He leaned forward and rested his chin in his palm. He was suddenly very interested in examining the shot glass that had been on fire only minutes before. It looked a lot smaller now without the flame. “I’m not really picky.”

Joly blew his breath out through his lips. “That will be fantastic news for the neuro patient,” he said. He paused and then added, “And the new surgical intern. Oh, and the x-ray tech.”

Combeferre raised his head, his examination of the glass momentarily suspended. His expression shifted, and a kindling of hope crackled to life in his eyes.

“Oh, come on,” Joly said. It was half groan and half moan. “Half of the hospital is in love with you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“No?”

“All those people making googly eyes at you?” Joly continued. “Every time you do your rounds? Sound familiar?”

“And what exactly does that look like?” Combeferre said wryly, the examination of the glass now completely abandoned. “Just so I have a reference.”

Joly recalled the image of the patient, which was subsequently followed by the silhouette of the surgical intern in his light green scrubs. He widened his eyes and went slack-jawed, causing both of them to dissolve into laughter.

As soon as the laughter died down, Combeferre’s expression clouded over again.

“Hey, I’ll set you up. If you want,” Joly offered. “With a patient. Or a doctor. Your choice.” He paused and brought a hand to his mouth, his fingers splayed over his parted lips and eyes widened. He looked like he’d stumbled upon something remarkable. “No, no. We should set each other up.”

“You sure you want to do that?” Combeferre said. He perked up at the mere suggestion of it, throwing back his shoulders and puffing out his chest. “Not sure the patient thing would be ethical, though.”

“Fine. No patients, then,” Joly said with a huff. “Also, can we please agree that all interns are off limits?”

“Yes, agreed,” Combeferre said with a nod. “But what about you? You have a preference? Anything that would help me out?”

Joly fell quiet, deep in deliberation. The conversation seemed to sober him, at least a little bit. The solemn expression on his face was a stark contrast to his earlier giggling fits. He shrugged after another moment. “Not really,” he concluded.

“I see. You’re desperate, too, are you?” Combeferre said lightly. He sat back with a satisfied smirk, prompting the stool to wobble beneath him. His hand shot out to grip the edge of the table to help him regain his balance.

“Desperate? No. I prefer _open-minded_ ,” Joly said emphatically. “And just for that, you owe me another shot.”

Combeferre scooted off of his stool, needing no further persuasion. He took a few steps forward and then hesitated. He pressed against the table, planting his elbow against its surface. The move was intended to look smooth, but it was ruined by the clinking of the empty glasses disturbed by his arm. “Flaming or regular?”

Combeferre’s smile, most likely intended to be apologetic, looked to Joly like a smirk more than anything. He had half a mind to slap the self-righteous grin right off of his face, though he restrained himself with the thought that such an action would undoubtedly interfere with the chances of receiving his next drink.

“Oh, just surprise me."

Combeferre pushed away, the motion upsetting the balance of the rickety table. “As you wish.”

* * *

The next morning, Joly almost didn’t remember that he’d agreed to do anything at all. When he woke, the sheets were tangled around his legs, and his pillows were displaced from a fitful sleep. The throbbing headache in the center of his forehead was rather unpleasant, though it was somewhat lessened by the residual happy feelings left over from the previous night.

He was obliged to untangle his legs from the sheets in order to roll over onto his side. His eyes fluttered shut and eventually his breathing began to even out as he dozed. His thoughts drifted aimlessly from one thing to the next. They mostly were variations on the same theme: gratitude over the fact that he had the entire day off, which also meant he was under no obligations to check the clock any time in the near future.

The memory of Combeferre’s smirk prompted his eyes to spring open in panic. He blinked, wondering if it was just a memory that he’d made up in his drunken stupor. He cracked his eyes open as his hand shot out from his side.

Next to his bed, a pile of thick, hardcover textbooks were stacked together and currently serving as a nightstand. They were incidentally the very same books that the bookstore hadn’t bought back over the years. As they began to accumulate, he decided that they could serve some kind of functional purpose.

It took a few more seconds, but he finally succeeded in locating his phone. He paused for a moment to marvel that he’d actually remembered to plug it in, despite his compromised state the night before. Normally he left it in a pocket somewhere and it ended up dead by the time he managed to locate it again. It was a stroke of good fortune that it had ended up in the proper place _and_ was completely charged.

The screen lit up, displaying a single message from Combeferre, who'd snapped a picture beside an exhausted intern earlier that morning. His blond hair was sticking out in three different directions, he had a smear of cream cheese on his cheek, and his green scrubs had horrifying wrinkles all over them. Of course the intern had posed for the picture, as they were rarely in the habit of denying any of the residents’ requests. The message beneath it simply read, “You sure you want to rule out interns?”

The screen dimmed and finally flickered off. “What have I done?” he whispered.

He cursed Combeferre’s suggestion to go to the bar, he cursed the whiskey, and he cursed himself. After another moment, he also cursed Combeferre’s admirer, who could’ve prevented this entire situation had he felt a little more courageous.

He swiped his thumb across the screen and cradled it against his shoulder and his ear as he listened to the dial tone. He curled his hand into a fist and rubbed at his burning eyelids. “Please pick up, please pick up,” he muttered, as if he could influence Jehan’s actions with the sheer power of his own determination.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Jehan chirped, prompting Joly to cringe. The brightness of his voice was roughly the equivalent of opening the blinds all at once and staring directly into the sunlight. He would’ve hung up right then and there if he hadn’t so desperately needed help. “What can I do for - ?”

Joly cut in before he had a chance to finish the question. “I may have suggested something stupid last night.”

On the other end of the line, he heard a sharp intake of breath. “You? Suggest something stupid? _Never_ ,” Jehan shot back.

“I know, right?” Joly said, his tone solemn. “It’s going to take some serious creativity to get me out of it, and you’re the most creative person I know.”

“I appreciate the flattery. But you still haven’t told me what you agreed to,” he mused. “I can’t help you get out of it if I don’t know what it is.”

Joly planted the heel of his hand in the center of his forehead, gradually increasing the pressure until he’d managed to take the edge off of his headache. He screwed his eyes shut and said, “I may have agreed to let Combeferre set me up?”

“Like... on a date?”

“Yes.”

Joly had been expecting a fit of laughter, or a bout of good-natured bantering. But he hadn’t been expecting silence. That was a tell-tale indicator that it was just as bad as he suspected. He cursed the whiskey again, just for good measure.

“You remember what happened the last time we let Combeferre set someone up, right? You already know he’s notoriously bad at it,” Jehan said slowly. “Three words for you: Feuilly and the undertaker. He still hasn’t recovered.”

“That was four words, but thank you for the reminder,” Joly shot back. He made a small distressed noise as he gripped the phone and rolled over onto his side. “I’m so screwed, aren’t I? It is unbelievable how screwed I am.”

The laughter that Joly had been anticipating finally came after that sentence escaped his mouth. Jehan had a light laugh, made up of a smattering of high pitched notes that sounded like a wind chime. “I imagine that getting screwed was one of the reasons you agreed to it in the first place, right?”

Joly’s entire face contorted as he reacted to the sheer nerve it must have taken to make a comment like that. He focused on his shocked feeling, amplifying it until he could no longer hear the voice in his head that was attempting to point out that Jehan was absolutely right. “You are _unbelievable_ ,” he declared. “So, you aren’t going to help me, then?”

“I want to help you. I do. But I also want to see how this plays out. Honestly, I want to know if Combeferre can top the undertaker. Wait. No. That’s not what I meant - ”

“Mm, sure it wasn’t,” Joly replied, laughing in spite of himself and then feeling a prickle of annoyance for laughing. The last thing Jehan needed was to be encouraged. His hand was already reaching up to retrieve his phone. He pulled it away from his ear and glared at it, even though the phone itself had done nothing wrong. It was merely guilty by its association with Jehan’s traitor voice.

“Oh, and Joly?” Jehan called out, raising his voice like he sensed he was about to get cut off. (He’d sensed correctly.) “Stay away from the whiskey next time.” He paused for a beat as something else occurred to him. “But, then again, if this is the kind of thing you agree to under the influence, maybe you should drink it more often.”

“Whatever. I’m never drinking again,” Joly decided. But even that wasn’t entirely true. It would’ve been more accurate if he would’ve added the qualifier that he was never drinking _with Combeferre_ again. That would be the best way to prevent situations like this in the future. "Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

"You are so welcome," Jehan replied, his laughter filling the line until Joly finally couldn’t take it anymore and hung up on him.

He replaced his phone on his nightstand and buried himself under the covers again. Maybe if he pretended it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was, he’d actually start to believe it.

* * *

The next morning, Joly watched the grin spread across Combeferre’s face, the expression having fully formed before Joly even had a chance to tip the steaming cup of coffee toward his lips. He sloshed the bitter stuff around in his mouth before swallowing it. Incidentally, it wasn’t the caffeine that did the trick for him; it was the awful taste that would keep him up for the next few hours.

“I think you’re going to like what I’m about to tell you,” Combeferre said. The lunch crowd had already come and gone, leaving the cafeteria with its peeling yellow paint mostly quiet around them. Their grey trays, heaped with untouched food, were pushed off to one side of the table. “I think I’ve found someone for you.”

“Already?” Joly said warily. He was slumped over the table, his shoulders hanging forward, still nursing the remnants of his headache from the previous day. He reminded himself once again that he was not annoyed with Combeferre; this entire thing was his own fault, after all. He heard an echo of Jehan’s laugh and promptly shoved the thought away. “That was fast.”

He flinched and his foot bumped against Combeferre’s under the table. He felt an answering tap against the side of his foot as his hand darted to the vibrating pager clipped to his waistband. He held it up with an apologetic smile. “I’m needed in the ER,” he announced. “I’m really hoping that the interns aren’t calling me to help them find a vein again.”

“Won’t that be the third time this week?” Combeferre wondered. He was already straightening and nudging his chair back into place with his hip. “I’ll walk with you,” he said, taking his Styrofoam cup in one hand and his untouched tray in the other.

On their way out, Joly slowed for a moment to appreciate the strings of multicolored Christmas lights hung along the perimeter of the cafeteria and the clumps of mistletoe hanging over the double doors. A giant Giving Tree was nestled in the corner nearest to them, its branches laden with tags with gift wishes scribbled in silver sharpie. He and Combeferre organized the drive every year, and he was glad to see that there were considerably fewer tags than the last time he’d walked by it.

Combeferre gave a pointed glance upward as they passed underneath the double doors, prompting Joly to give his shoulder a shove. “Pucker up,” he teased.

Joly would’ve been more annoyed if Combeferre hadn’t already said the same thing three other times they’d found themselves under random mistletoe around the hospital. Admittedly, he’d been quite stunned to find a cluster hanging down from the drywall arch leading to the wall of vending machines. Of course the vending machine area, with its flickering lightbulb and cockroach infestation, was the epitome of a romantic space.

Alternating of blue and beige tiles passed underfoot as they walked to the elevator. But it wasn’t until they were inside the lift that Combeferre spoke again. He watched Joly’s reflection in the stainless steel of the lift doors. Joly stared straight ahead to meet Combeferre’s gaze.

“You know what? I think you secretly like them,” Combeferre said.

A crease appeared between Joly’s eyebrows as he scrunched up his face. He tipped his head off to one side. “What are you talking about?”

“The interns,” Combeferre said. He readjusted the stethoscope hanging crooked around his neck and then took a sip of coffee. “I think you like how they look up to you.”

“I do not,” Joly protested. 

“Don’t worry,” Combeferre said. Joly couldn’t tell if he’d been winking at him, or if his eye had just twitched. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The elevator doors slid open in front of them, prompting a pair of interns to rush forward to meet them. He smiled in spite of himself as they approached. Combeferre knocked their arms together one more time before he retreated down the hallway in the opposite direction.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Joly said, his gaze darting back and forth between the two of them. 

One of the interns, who was wearing lime greens scrubs that looked like they hadn’t been changed in at least three days, ducked his head and fiddled with his lab coat. He chewed on his lower lip as the other one launched into an explanation. As she stumbled over her words, she shot periodic nervous glances over her shoulder. It was only then that Joly peered around her, noticing the patient in the exam room, curled onto his side and clutching at his face.

“You tried to reset a broken nose,” he repeated, straining to keep his voice steady. “On your own.”

She screwed her eyes shut, shoulders tensed as she waited for the reprimand. She cracked her eyes open again after another second when the rebuke she was expecting never came.

“I’m not mad. You were right to page me,” Joly informed her. A sympathetic feeling curled around in his chest as she deflated in front of him, her shoulders slumped and her head hung over her chest. How could he be mad, when he and Combeferre had done nearly the exact same thing when they were interns? Except in their case, they’d attempted to handle a dislocated shoulder, not a broken nose. He could remember all too well the desire to stand apart, a desire that meant they'd do almost anything if it would potentially impress the residents. “I’ll handle it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, as he angled around her.

He knocked on the door twice before pushing it open with his shoulder. His brief introduction was met with a groan. He glanced over the chart that had been left on the counter and attempted to say the name printed there. He failed spectacularly.

“It’s Courfeyrac,” the man corrected. He was still curled on the table, knees drawn to his chest.

“My apologies for butchering your name.” Joly bent his knees, so that his face was at the same height as the patient’s. After asking for permission to touch him, he rested a gloved hand on his shoulder, rubbing slow circles there and consoling him with quiet words. It took a few minutes, but he managed to persuade Courfeyrac to sit back up and to lower his hands.

“Yikes,” he blurted, eyes roaming over the swollen nose in front of him.

Courfeyrac winced. “It’s never a good thing when that’s how the doctor reacts.”

“The good news is that I can fix it.” Joly moved away to rifle through the drawers, picking out the proper instruments and depositing them on the counter. He approached the table again and held up each one, explaining what they were and what he’d use them for. After that’d been taken care of, he returned and set to work. “So, who’d you piss off today?” he wondered.

“I didn’t piss anyone off, thank you very much,” Courfeyrac replied. He spoke slowly and blinked rapidly, trying to clear his watering eyes. “My friend did. We were at a rally today, and he didn’t like - ” He stopped abruptly as he gathered his thoughts. “Well, he got into a heated argument with the person we were standing next to. And when I saw the other guy draw his fist, I shoved him away and took the punch myself.”

“That was awfully nice of you,” Joly remarked. Though he couldn’t quite place it, something about him seemed familiar. He could’ve sworn that he saw a glint of recognition in Courfeyrac’s eyes, but he couldn’t decide if he was imagining it or if it was really there. He looked inexplicably sad, and the broken nose didn't seem to be helping matters much, either. 

“The whole way here, my friend kept telling me how terrible he feels about the whole thing, but I think - ” Whatever it was he had intended to say next was lost. His explanation was interrupted with a loud string of curses as Joly finished resetting his nose.

Joly took a few steps backward as Courfeyrac’s hands darted up to his nose, prodding at the place where it’d been jolted back to its proper place. “Sorry. It’s a little better if you don’t see it coming,” he said.

“If you say so.” Courfeyrac lapsed into silence as he pulled himself together again.

Joly scrawled down the instructions for treating it and deposited the slip of paper in Courfeyrac’s palm. As Courfeyrac finally edged off of the table, Joly removed his coat from the hook on the door, glad that the interns had done that much, at least. He held it steady as Courfeyrac maneuvered his arms into it, but his attention was drawn to the scarf that he was unraveling from his pocket.

“What is that? On your scarf?” Joly wondered, his curiosity sufficiently piqued by the black text on the beige material.

“It was a birthday present.” Courfeyrac held the material between his index and middle finger, stretching the fabric out a little so that Joly could see it. “It has a page of _Sherlock Holmes_ printed on it.”

“That is spectacular,” Joly marveled, while moving closer to examine the piece that Courfeyrac held out to him. “I have a friend who’d love something like this.”

“Oh, yeah?” Courfeyrac said, his expression brightening. “Well, one of my friends makes them, so I could probably hook you up with one. If you’d like.”

“I may have to take you up on that,” Joly said. He reached out and propped open the door to the exam room with his hip.

Courfeyrac lingered in the doorway for another moment. He glanced up, and it was only then that Joly noticed the mistletoe that had been hung there, too. His mouth was already opening to apologize. He wondered yet again who’d been in charge of the decoration this year. Whoever it was really had a penchant for putting mistletoe in incredibly inappropriate places.

But when Courfeyrac spoke, he voiced an entirely different question that the one Joly had been expecting. Courfeyrac's eyes darted to his reflection in the small rectangular window inlaid in the door. “This is really going to ruin my chances of getting a date for a while, isn’t it?” he lamented, giving a slow shake of his head as he pointed to his nose. “I need you to be honest with me… How much do I resemble Rudolph right now?”

“The reindeer, you mean?” Joly said. He tried but did not succeed in trying to swallow down his laughter. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“I _am_ worried, though.” Courfeyrac pointed to his swollen nose again and said very seriously, “This is very important to my ego.”

“I see.” Joly gave him another pat on the back and moved to accompany him back to the waiting room. Before they emerged through a set of swinging doors, he turned toward Courferyac and said, “You shouldn’t worry about the dating thing. Honestly. That nose of yours makes you look really tough.”

“Does it?” Courfeyrac cast a final, dubious look at his reflection and readjusted the scarf around his neck. They emerged into the waiting room, and Joly watched as Courfeyrac’s friend pulled himself out of his chair. He stumbled a few steps, most likely from a leg that’d been curled beneath him for too long. When he reached Courferyac, he draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

“Thanks again,” Courfeyrac said, before letting himself be guided away.

Joly stood near the reception desk, watching the second hand on the clock until a full minute had passed. As soon as it had, he crossed the waiting room until he could peer out the sliding glass doors. He crossed his arms as the doors slid open in front of him. He clenched his jaw and braced himself for the cold, but it was futile. There was no way that he could ever adequately prepare himself to confront the wind chill. After a few seconds, his face went numb and his breath escaped from between his parted lips in white puffs.

He looked in the direction of the parking lot and was just in time to watch Courfeyrac lean forward and shut the passenger door. As they drove away, Joly tracked the motion of the car. He’d had a curious feeling when he’d noticed the scarf, and it only intensified as he noticed the _Mischief Managed_ sticker plastered to one corner of the rear windshield. There was another one in the opposite corner, elvish writing in the shape of the One Ring. He was almost certain that the car he was watching did not belong to Courfeyrac’s friend.

It was only when he wished that Combeferre had been there to see both the scarf and the stickers that he was struck with the quiet realization. Granted, he’d only been allowed a glimpse of three things, but he had the sneaking suspicion that he may have discovered a nerd who just about rivaled Combeferre. Not to mention that he was ridiculously good looking, swollen nose and all. And he was probably single, if he was concerned about getting dates.

As he returned to the warmth of the waiting room, he thought that maybe his idea hadn’t been such a bad one, after all. He hummed to himself, though he cut off abruptly when he recognized the tune as one of the verses from the song about Rudolph the reindeer. 

_Oh, this is going to be good,_ he decided.

* * *

He remained buoyed by his good mood for the rest of the afternoon, so much so that he was willing to go along with Combeferre's scheme, which he brought it up again at dinner. When they returned to the elevator, he watched Combeferre in his periphery, unsure if he was supposed to be alarmed or excited by his enthusiasm.

They were let off on the first floor, wandering the nearly empty hallways. They rounded a curved portion, and Joly nearly stopped short when he saw where they were headed. They approached the front entrance of the hospital, which had another tree looming in the lobby alongside a beautiful black grand piano.

“Are you serious?” He eyed the displays of flowers and candies arranged in the glass windows of the gift shop. The perimeter of the display case was illuminated with strings of multicolored Christmas lights, and fake snow was sprinkled in the spaces between flower arrangements. It was another strange set up, just like the rest of the decorating around the hospital.

Combeferre rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Just trust me? Please?” he pleaded.

Joly swallowed down the urge to remind him about what had happened the last time they’d trusted Combeferre’s judgment with blind dates. He could only cross his fingers that it wouldn’t be as disastrous as Feuilly and the kinky undertaker. “Are you going to tell me who I’m looking for, at least?” he asked.

Combeferre withdrew his hand from Joly’s shoulder and glanced at the time on the digital watch wrapped around his wrist. “There won’t be anyone else at this hour,” he observed. “They’ll probably be the only person in there.”

"Right." Joly took a moment to steel himself. “Well, wish me luck, then.”

“I would, but you don’t need it,” Combeferre replied, the smile already reappearing on his face. Joly took a few hesitant steps forward before craning his head over his shoulder. Combeferre had already retreated to one of the overstuffed arm chairs arranged in the waiting space only a few feet away from the entrance to the gift shop. He shot Joly a thumbs-up before digging his phone out of the pocket of his lab coat.

Joly crossed the threshold of the store, noting the curious lack of mistletoe here. He was struck with the peculiar aroma of the gift shop, a combination of knock-off perfume and fresh flowers in coolers combined with the musty smell of all the forgotten things on the wooden shelves. Joly lifted his hand in greeting to the volunteer manning the desk. He was perched on a single stool, his elbows planted on the counter as he pursued an old magazine.

_The only person in the shop,_ he reminded himself.

The only other person there was standing in front of one of the refrigerators full of flowers. He had his hands shoved into the pocket of his skinny jeans. His broad shoulders filled out his coat nicely, though the material was a little loose around the waist.

Joly moved forward, even though he still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to say yet. And he feared that saying something along the lines of  _my friend told me to talk to you_ probably wasn’t going to go over well. He stared straight forward through the clear doors, eyes roaming over the elaborate arrangements of roses and tulips. But his worry gradually ebbed away as the other man turned and started the conversation first.

He spared a glance at Joly and said, “I’m gonna need a second opinion, doc. You have a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” Joly managed. He swallowed, though it didn’t do much to soothe his dry throat. He took a moment to appreciate the crinkles that had appeared near the corner of the other man’s brown eyes when he smiled.

He leaned forward and pressed his index finger against the door, leaving a smudge there. “You see those arrangements? The ones for newborns? Is the one with the teddy bear and the little balloon ridiculously cute or embarrassingly cliché? I honestly can’t tell.”

“Um.” Joly opened his mouth to give a more substantial answer, but all the words he’d been meaning to say evaporated from his lips the moment the other man’s full attention was directed at him. “Cute. I’m going with cute,” he finally managed. _Just like you,_ he finished in his head. He found a strange look sent in his direction, making him fear almost instantly that he’d slipped up and said something out loud. Joly wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other after that, but he couldn’t find it in him to be the first one to look away.

“It’s my sister’s first kid, and she’s ecstatic,” he was saying now, finally tearing his gaze away and examining the flowers again. “And I’m already looking forward to spoiling her.”

The door to the cooler squeaked as it was eased open. He shuffled forward, struggling to hold open the door and grab the flowers at the same time. Joly immediately moved forward and held it open all the way, trying not to notice the way their fingers brushed together as he did so.

With the vase safely in hand, he headed over to the register. The volunteer there had already abandoned the magazine and was watching their approach, though the bored expression on his face remained unchanged.

Before the other man had a chance to set the flowers down, Joly pressed closer to the counter. He fumbled in his pocket until he managed to locate his wallet. “I’ll cover it,” he announced, already sliding the cash across the counter.

“Oh, God, you really don’t have to do that.”

“But I’m going to,” he insisted. It had been a long time since he’d done a random act of kindness, and he’d nearly forgotten how good it felt. It was worth every dollar for the smile currently plastered to the other man’s face, though he was attempting to hide his face behind the flowers. It was shy and flustered and adorable, and he loved it.

“Are you sure?”

He held his hand out, waiting for the volunteer in his oversized uniform to make the change. “Absolutely,” he confirmed.

“I guess it’s your lucky day,” the cashier observed, his gaze flickering between the two of them as he tore off the receipt.

“I guess it is,” he echoed.

They moved away from the counter, but lingered for another moment at the entrance to the gift shop. At last, he switched the flower arrangement from one arm to the other and stuck out his left hand. “I’m Bossuet, by the way.”

“Joly.” He hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask _you_ something now? Do you think me paying for your flowers was ridiculously cute or embarrassingly cliché?”

Bossuet regarded him with a mixture of gratitude and something else that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may have been amusement, but his expression was a touch too soft for it. After another moment, Joly decided it was curiosity.

“Who says it can’t be both?” Bossuet replied. “Thanks again for doing that. You made my day. Made my week, actually.”

“Welcome. I hope she likes it.” With dismay, he watched Bossuet turn, already headed in the direction of the pair of elevators. “And tell your sister congratulations for me.”

Bossuet fumbled with the buttons, his finger slipping right off the plastic button before he glanced down to smack the right one. “I definitely will.”

He gave Bossuet one last wave before the elevator doors closed. He threaded his hands together and placed them on top of his head. He spun around once and made a distressed noise, for lack of anything better to do.

He finished the slow revolution he’d been making and stopped suddenly. His fingers itched to send a text to Jehan. He could already imagine what it would say, though on second thought, the message would be better if Jehan had the opportunity to hear the gloating in his voice. Combeferre had done it; he’d finally managed to break his streak. This alone would be enough to garner him a new reputation. A better one, even.

Combeferre replaced his phone as Joly approached the bench again, having not been paying attention until that moment. He was fully aware of the smile stuck on his face, but he had no desire to try and get rid of it. He merely held out a hand to help Combeferre to his feet and then used it to pull him into a hug.

“So, it went well, I take it?” Combeferre said, as his arms instinctively curled around Joly’s back. “Your face is all red,” he teased.

“It was great. I still feel kind of tingly, if you must know.” It only occurred to him then that he had no way to get back into touch with Bossuet. The hope that had ballooned in his chest started to deflate.

Combeferre pulled back and scrutinized his face, evidently trying to decide if the tingling should concern him. After a moment, Joly tacked on, “Tingly in a good way, I mean.”

Joly opened his mouth again, wanting to ask how Combeferre had possibly stumbled across this person, and how he’d known that he’d be in the gift shop. It must have taken some planning to execute it properly, and for that he was grateful.

Combeferre’s gaze flickered over his shoulder, his smile suddenly replaced with a slight frown. “Uh. I think someone’s looking for you?”

Joly turned around slowly, cherishing hope at what he’d find before he’d turned around all the way. He met Bossuet halfway to the elevators.

“Oh, to hell with it,” Bossuet said, by way of greeting. The flowers were curiously missing from his hands and he was a touch out of breath, prompting Joly to wonder what, exactly, had happened to him in the interim. “Are you single? Because you are really, really cute and I’d love to take you out sometime. Unless you aren’t single, in which case I’ve just completely embarrassed myself - ”

“No, no, I am.” Joly fought down the excited scream fighting its way to his throat. He was pleasantly surprised at how calm his voice sounded, despite the onslaught of emotion. “And I’d like that,” he said. He was already pulling out his phone and swiping his finger across the screen to open a new contact. “I’d like that a lot,” he repeated as he passed it over.

“Great. That’d be amazing. Thank you.” Bossuet’s eyes widened and his fingers stilled over the screen. “I didn’t mean, like, thank you for agreeing,” he spluttered. “ _Shit_ , I don’t even know why I said that and now I’ve just sworn at you - “

“It’s okay. Really.” His nervous rambling was endearing, and it confirmed Joly’s suspicions that he wasn’t the only one who still felt nervous.

“I’ll speak with you soon,” Bossuet promised. “But I have to get going now. My sister will think I got lost, or something.”

“Go on, you wouldn’t want them to worry,” Joly said with a wave of his hands. He stood there smiling until long after the elevator had disappeared and no doubt a long time after Bossuet had returned to his sister’s room. He folded his arms over his chest and held them there, though the pressure did nothing to calm his racing heart.

He turned as he heard Combeferre approach behind him, though he did a double take at his furrowed eyebrows and his pursed lips. “Who the hell was that?” he said slowly.

“What do you mean?” Joly said, finally drawing his gaze away from where it’d been fixed on the elevators. “Wasn’t that the person you wanted me to meet?”

“No?” Combeferre rubbed at the nape of his neck, his expression thoroughly perplexed. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“But you said to look for the only other person in the store?”

“Oh. I, um, I actually meant the volunteer behind the counter,” he said sheepishly. “But, hey, that works, too.”

Joly stared at him, his expression blank. “So, you mean to say that everything that just happened was… an accident?” 

“A happy accident, yes,” Combeferre amended.

Joly tipped his head back and laughed, though it took Combeferre another moment to join in.

“Well, thank you, anyway,” he said, when he managed to stop laughing long enough to speak again. “For helping me to be in the right place at the right time.”

Combeferre considered this for a moment. He parted his lips, though he still looked as though he was trying to decide what to say. He finally settled for, “You’re welcome, I think? I’m still not quite sure what just happened.”

"Me either. But I think I like where it’s headed."

Right on cue, Joly's phone vibrated with an incoming text. He angled the screen toward Combeferre, allowing him to see the message.  _Dinner tomorrow? How does that sound?_

"He doesn’t waste any time, I’ll give him that," Combeferre observed. He staggered backward as Joly threw his arms around him again.

They were forced to stop when a group of amused interns wandered by. They immediately pulled away from the hug and cleared their throats to make it seem like they’d been talking about Serious Medical Business all along. But they continued their subtle nudging, elbows jabbing against each other’s sides, as they watched the interns retreat, not knowing quite how to contain the happy feeling and not really wanting to figure it out.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

“I’ve been replaced, haven’t I?” Combeferre said. He slowed as he reached the table, both arms curled underneath the tray with his lunch heaped on it. His gaze flickered back and forth between Joly and Bossuet, evidently trying to decide whether or not he should intrude.

In response, Joly turned and pulled out the chair next to him, its legs squeaking against the floor as he edged it out from beneath the table. He gave the back of the chair a pat in invitation. “I would never replace you,” he said, while directing his sweetest smile at Combeferre.

Combeferre dropped down into the seat next to him. He eyes his own tray and then noticed the lunch Bossuet had unpacked from a wrinkled brown bag. “Oh, that’s smart,” he complimented. “That's really smart.”

“Thanks,” he said, while withdrawing a plastic bag of grapes. As he set to work plucking them off of the stem, he said, “We haven’t formally met yet, but I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope?” Combeferre said.

“Some good things,” Bossuet teased. He arched an eyebrow as Joly sat forward and waved his hand. He opened his mouth obligingly. Bossuet lobbed a grape at his cheek and then another at his nose, though Joly couldn’t tell at first if he had done it intentionally or if he just had horrendous aim. Joly ended up with another one bouncing off of his forehead before Bossuet managed to get one relatively close to his mouth. He laughed as he retrieved the grape from the surface of the table. He popped it into his mouth, and its sourness stung the inside of his cheeks.

“Did you have a good weekend, by the way?” Joly wondered. Their shifts hadn’t lined up since Friday, and he felt bad that he hadn’t had a chance to ask yet.

“Yes. The new _Hobbit_ is out,” Combeferre said. “I thought about dressing up for it, but ended up changing my mind at the last minute… And then when I got there and saw all the people who did, I wished I would’ve gone through with it.”

With a growing sense of dismay, Joly remembered the bumper sticker with the One Ring and the scarf. It’d been over two weeks now, and he hadn’t gotten any closer to working something out. He hadn’t forgotten, exactly. It was just hard to think of anything beyond Bossuet at the moment. But he’d get around to it.

Bossuet stared at Combeferre for a moment, the grapes in his hand momentarily forgotten. “You remind me so much of someone I know,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, although he had no such qualms about dressing up.” Bossuet shrugged. “Went all out and loved every second of it.”

“Huh. I wonder if I saw him there?” Combeferre discreetly checked his watch before planting his hands on the table and pushing his chair back out. “Ah, sorry, I promised my interns I’d help them review for their exams next week. It was lovely to properly meet you.” He turned and waved at them again before disappearing through the double doors.

“I have to get going soon, too,” Bossuet said. He tossed one last grape in Joly’s direction before collecting together the trash from his lunch. “Walk me out?”

They walked hand-in-hand, choosing to meander through the corridors for a while, as neither one were in any particular rush to reach the parking lot. They wandered, though the only other person they saw was a male nurse dressed in black scrubs. He glanced up from the radiology department reception desk to watch them as they passed, and Joly could feel the weight on his gaze focused on the back of his head as they retreated down the hallway. “Have I told you about the patient that came through here about two weeks ago?” he wondered. “The one with a broken nose?”

“No, you haven’t mentioned that one,” Bossuet said.

Joly was prevented from immediately beginning the story by the presence of a gurney being guided down the hallway. They had to walk one in front of the other for a moment, though he supposed that it would at least give Bossuet an excuse to discreetly admire the view. He smiled as they passed alongside the gurney, and the older man there lifted his hand in greeting. Joly waited until they were side-by-side before speaking again.

“So, he came in with a broken nose, right? After I finished resetting his nose, he put on this with a book page printed on it. And when he drove away, his car had _Harry Potter_ and _Lord of the Rings_ bumper stickers on it. Can you even imagine what would happen if we put him and Combeferre in a room together?” Joly mused.

“Um. I might be able to make that happen?” Bossuet said slowly before tightening his grip on Joly’s hand. “I think we’re actually thinking of the same person.”

Joly slowed almost to a stop. Bossuet gave his hand another tug, but he stayed where he was. “Are we?”

“Was his car red?”

“It was!” Joly exclaimed. “I completely mangled his name, though.” To Bossuet’s amusement, it took a few attempts before he managed to produce it again. “It was Courfeyrac.”

“That’s him,” Bossuet confirmed. “Oh my god, so _you’re_ the doctor who told him his broken nose made him look tough? He’s been reminding us all week about what you said.”

“That was me, yes. I was just trying to make him feel better." Joly paused and then added. "Is he single?”

Bossuet nodded. “I’m happy to report that he’s very single.”

“Very single?” Joly repeated.

Bossuet held up his free hand, his palm facing outward in a defensive gesture. “His words, not mine,” he said. He moved off to one side to let an orderly pushing a wheelchair to pass by them.

“So, what does he do, if I can ask?” Joly wondered.

“Public defender,” Bossuet replied. “Just graduated from Yale Law a year ago.”

Very smart, very attractive, and very single. Those were all very good things. It was only then that Joly tugged on Bossuet’s hand and started walking again. Their joined hands swung in the space between their bodies. “Is there any chance you could get us back in touch?” he asked.

“Absolutely. Also, can I ask you something else?” Bossuet looked up and pointed at a place on the ceiling a few feet away from them. “Why on Earth is there a piece of mistletoe hanging from a ceiling tile in the middle of a random hallway?”

“I wish I knew,” Joly said with a sigh. “I mean, they’re everywhere. Even by the vending machines. I’d really love to know why.”

“Why not, I suppose?” Bossuet shot back, the grin already creeping back onto his face. He dragged Joly forward until they were properly underneath it. “I’ve seen at least four of them today. Including the one in the cafeteria. You know, I’m starting to think that this place knows just how much I want to kiss you.”

Joly’s arms found their way around Bossuet’s shoulders, clenching the material of his jacket into his fists. “Then kiss me,” he said.

Bossuet’s lips were warm against his and still tasted a bit sour from the grapes he’d been eating before. “Have I told you how much I like kissing you?” he asked.

"You may have mentioned it a few times," Joly answered before quieting him again. They were still kissing when they heard the scuffing of shoes against the floors and a smattering of giggles. Bossuet’s lips curved into a smile beneath his own.

Joly cracked his eyes open long enough to see Combeferre guiding his group of interns around them, no doubt leading them to one of the large conference rooms that was just around the next corner. “On your left, you will see some truly horrifying PDA,” he announced in his best imitation of a tour guide voice. “That's funny, I was under the impression that it was Christmas, not Halloween.”

Joly freed one hand long enough to flip him off, prompting another bout of amused laughter from the interns. The other hand he pressed against the nape of Bossuet’s neck, using it to keep him right where he was. He was going to get back at Combeferre for this one day.

“Well, I suppose that’s what happens when there’s mistletoe everywhere,” Combeferre said. After another moment, they were gone again, leaving them undisturbed until a pair of gurneys needed to pass through. They were forced to separate and press up against the wall to give them enough room, effectively ruining what little of the mood he'd managed to salvage. 

"Do you have to go?" Joly asked, reluctant to let go of Bossuet’s hand now that he only just started holding it again.

"Yes, sorry. But I will see you later tonight," Bossuet replied. He gave him one final kiss on the cheek before Joly relinquished his grip on his hand. He heading off toward the hallway that would deliver him at the front entrance. He turned, walking backwards. “And I’ll be sure to tell Courfeyrac you’re looking for him,” he promised before disappearing from sight.

* * *

Joly looked up from the chart he’d been examining when he heard the knock on the door. He pushed it off to one side, deciding that he’d return to it later.

The door to his office was propped open with a particularly large anatomy textbook and he was currently curled up in the chair pushed against his window, half-reading the chart and half-watching the snow falling outside.

He raised his head in time to see Courfeyrac materialize in the doorway. The nurse in pink scrubs who’d been directing him promptly spun around on her heel and left, prompting him to call out a quick thank you to her retreating figure. He hovered on the threshold, neither inside his office nor outside it. He loosened the scarf draped around his neck, the same one as before. “So, I heard you wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes, I do.” Joly noted his bright pink cheeks and chapped lips and the chill that he’d brought in with him. He had to give Bossuet credit for working so fast. They’d only had that conversation three days ago. “But let’s go get something to drink first.”

The chart rustled as he closed it. He dropped it on his desk as he passed by and then kicked the textbook out of the way, shutting his office door behind him but not bothering to lock it.

“You know, the great thing about hospitals is that there’s always coffee brewing somewhere,” Joly observed. “If you know where to look, that is.”

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten lucky enough to land an office four doors down from the break room, something that he didn’t hesitate to point out continuously to Combeferre. He’d ended up with a teeny office with the door to the stairwell on one side and a medical supply closet on the other. Joly almost felt sorry for him, especially when he remembered the way the hinges always squeaked when it opened and the way the heavy metal door slammed shut. 

With the steaming coffee in front of him, Courfeyrac began to relax. He was more than willing to trade small talk for a while, commenting about the cold weather and reassuring Joly that his nose was healing well. “I’m mostly just glad that the interns didn’t do any permanent damage,” he admitted. “I really worried that they might have, even after you showed up.”

“That makes two of us, then,” Joly agreed, the coffee mug suspended in front of his lips. He took a sip before deciding it was too hot to properly enjoy. He settled for curling his hand around it instead and enjoying the warmth seeping into his palms. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, though.”

Courfeyrac gave a wave of his hand to signal him to continue.

“You look so familiar to me,” Joly remarked. The question was not the one he’d been meaning to ask, but he was working up to it. “Have we met before? Apart from in the ER, obviously.”

With a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, he watched the blood rise in Courfeyrac’s cheeks. “Er, I don’t think so,” he said. His coffee cup was abandoned in front of him, and he began to drum his fingers against the surface of the table. “How’s your boyfriend, by the way?”

Joly frowned, partly because of the question and partly because he’d just burned his tongue on another sip of coffee. “Well, I’m not sure I’d call him my boyfriend,” he said. “It’s still pretty new.”

“It didn’t look new,” Courfeyrac replied, trying his best to sound nonchalant. He was failing miserably at it, though Joly still had no clue why he looked so sad about the whole thing. “You two look so happy together.”

“What are you talking about?” He hastily tried to recall everywhere he and Bossuet had visited together in the past few weeks, though he couldn’t remember ever seeing Courfeyrac there. Then again, if they had, they probably wouldn’t have been having this conversation right now. “When have you seen us together?”

“I’m pretty sure we were at the same bar a few weeks ago,” Courfeyrac admitted. “You had flaming shots at your table. And your boyfriend is gorgeous.”

Joly flinched and nearly knocked over the coffee cup. He suddenly remembered the person who kept knocking into their table, the one who’d been hovering in their periphery all night and never bothered to make a move. He tried to swallow down his laughter, though he feared he was going to lose control over it in about five more seconds. “You think - ? Oh my god, you think - ?” was all he could say before losing it completely.

His shoulders were shaking as he fumbled with the pager on his waistband. In short bursts, he managed to instruct Courfeyrac to press the first button and to type in their location. “Is that why you wouldn’t come speak with us - even when - I gave you - the signal?” he said, between sharp intakes of air.

“That’s exactly why.” Courfeyrac set the pager back down on the table and watched Joly with a horrified expression. “Are you okay?”

"I will be,” he managed, while wiping away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. He forced himself to breathe. His stomach was beginning to ache. “There just isn’t enough time in the world for me to explain to you how wrong you are."

He leaned forward and rested his head on the table as he dissolved into another fit of laughter. He only looked up again when he felt Combeferre’s hand on his back. He sat up in his chair again, the motion abrupt enough to dislodge his hand.

Combeferre merely stared at him, still struggling to catch his breath from having sprinted there. But the sight of Combeferre’s face merely triggered the laughing all over again.

Combeferre immediately turned on Courfeyrac. “What did you _say_? You broke him.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to?” Courfeyrac said quickly. His expression continued to alternate between horror and concern. 

“He thinks we’re – That we’re - ” Joly said, before the rest was lost.

“Dating?” Courfeyrac finished for him. “Aren’t you?”

To his credit, Combeferre was much more graceful about it. He laughed, but he was also able to pull himself back together again after a minute, which was something Joly still hadn’t managed to do yet. “We’re not,” he informed Courfeyrac. “He’s dating Bossuet.”

“Bossuet?” Courfeyrac repeated. He blinked a couple times. “ _You’re_ the one he’s been talking about nonstop? But I thought… ” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “Holy shit, this is embarrassing. I’m _so_ sorry. I can't believe - ”

"It’s alright." Joly cleared his throat, choking down the rest of his laughter. “Here, let me help you out. Courfeyrac, this is Combeferre. Please ask him what he did last weekend.” He pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his coffee, which was most likely cool enough to enjoy by now. He patted Combeferre's head as he passed, wishing him luck, even though he didn’t need it, either.

He transferred his cup from his left hand to his right, balancing it there as he eased the door shut. Before the door had closed all the way, he heard Combeferre asking about the scarf.

As he walked back from his office, warm from the coffee and his mood lifted by the turn of events, he mused that this was only the beginning to a great story, one that all their friends would be forced to listen to for weeks to come. It was the stuff that good best man speeches were made of.

He sank down in his chair again, though the chart he’d been examining previously didn’t captivate his attention any more than it had the first time. When he looked up again, there was considerably more snow on the ground. He jumped in seat, nearly knocking the chart off the arm of the chair. His hands darted out to catch it. As soon as he’d steadied it, he turned his attention to Combeferre, who was leaning against his desk.

“ _Jesus_ , how long have you been standing there?” he wondered. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even heard him come in.

"Just a few minutes. But you looked like you were thinking about something important. Didn’t want to disturb you," he said. "And nice catch, by the way."

"Thanks." Joly began to drum his fingers against the now-closed chart. He took in the sight of Combeferre’s flushed cheeks and Courfeyrac’s scarf dangling around his neck, untied. "Things went well, I hope?"

Combeferre noticed him looking at it and began to fiddle with its hem. “He, um, told me I could keep it. Said it looked better on me.” After another moment, Combeferre retrieved his phone from the pocket of his lab coat and pulled something up on the screen. With a triumphant grin, he set it down in front of Joly, balancing it on the closed chart. A conversation bubble from Courfeyrac read: _Drinks tomorrow? On me? xx_

Joly merely smiled before handing it back out to him, satisfied that they’d both done well for each other. 

He continued to sit in his chair for a long time after Combeferre finally left. He sank further into the cushion that desperately needed to be restuffed as he mulled things over.  
  
He could already picture the way that the two of them would gather their friends together at their favorite bar. He could see them all crowding around one table, squeezing close to each other so they’d all fit, bumping elbows as they sipped at glasses of wine.

_Do you remember the time…?_ Joly would start. The smile would spread across his face and he’d start laughing before he’d had a chance to tell the rest of the story. _Remember the time when Combeferre and I tried to play matchmaker for each other? And somehow, accidentally, got it completely right?_

**Author's Note:**

> It's never too late for a Christmas fic, is it? I hope you enjoyed! :) [Tumblr!](http://combeferree.tumblr.com)


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